
On Saturday I attended the funeral of 16-year-old homicide victim Nathan Chanthavong in the morning and in the afternoon the annual Youth Alive Khadafy Washington Project picnic for families who have lost loved ones to the gun in Oakland. The funeral was packed and full. It was held at the gothic Chapel of the Chimes, the nondenominational chapel designed by Julia Morgan and tucked within the labyrinthine columbarium of Mountain View Cemetery. The chapel sits just outside the gates of the big graveyard in the hills at the end of Piedmont Avenue, where many Oakland icons are at rest. The chapel is small and dark. Before I even arrived at 10 I got a call from M that it was already full up. So she and I sat outside the entrance for most of the morning among the milling overflow. A few times I excused my way into the chapel to observe the ceremony, which included approximately ten young Buddhist monks in saffron-colored robes chanting, incense burning and two screens, sound down, on either side of the altar playing pictures and video clips of young Nathan in life. One video was of him inside a dark car talking or possibly rapping. It played silently while the monks chanted. The casket was laid out before the altar, open, and at one point the family was called to gather round it. Otherwise we were outside the entrance on a stone bench in the shade. Occasionally a petite woman would come to our bench, stoop down and grab a can of Modelo to sip on. Behind us on the street one group had a big bottle of Chivas Regal they were hitting on. Smell of weed and tobacco in the air, as at many funerals of the killed in Oakland. Also loads of perfume, cologne and sweat. Many of the attendees outside the chapel were kids, classmates of the deceased who had attended both Oakland High and Skyline High, and I think there were students and teachers there from both schools. I ask you to imagine what the impact would have been on your high school if one of your classmates had been gunned down and dumped, like Nathan was. Many of the young men were wearing Purple brand jeans with the tag hanging prominently from their back pockets. It’s the style, I’m told. OPD had a presence up the street a few doors. The black car was unmarked but the police lights inside its grill were flashing blue and red. The family had placed pastries and coffee outside the entrance. After they were done chanting and praying, the monks all came outside, very youthful, terribly skinny, smooth skin, shaved heads, robes off one shoulder. They were laughing and playful like kids. It was hot in the sun on a Saturday morning. As far as I could tell, no official from the City of Oakland attended the funeral. At least I saw no sign of anyone who looked official. The City apparently feels it has no connection to its dead children, no responsibility for their safety, and therefore none for their destruction.
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